angry desperate hope

I woke up today, as I do most days, sad. 

(No not because of Valentine's Day...although I think it's the dumbest holiday ever.) 

To be honest, there's not a whole lot that makes me not sad these days. 

I'm sure that is a surprise to most (hopefully), especially those who have been in my presence. I have gotten pretty good at looking happy.

Or at least happier then I am. 

Don't get me wrong, I have my happy moments, but my sadness and depression far outweighs the happy at this point. 

You see, I expected my life to be a lot different by now. 

No, I don't mean having Phoenix here, although let's be honest, I wish for that every day.

I mean, I expected God to show up by now. 

Ha.

It looks ridiculous to actually type that out and not just think it. 

But truly...It has almost been nine months since Phoenix passed.

NINE.

Nine months ago, Stephen and I joked about maybe "accidentally" getting pregnant after nine months of waiting, even tho the doctor told us to wait twelve months. 

We're not even close to being able to think about getting pregnant again. 

Not even close. 

And I am angry. 

I am angry that God has not shown up yet. 

I am angry that Phoenix's death doesn't make sense yet...even though I know, it might never make sense to me.

I am angry. 

But at the same time, I know my anger must just look so petty to God. Not that He doesn't hurt when I hurt, and not that He is a cold hearted God.

I know my anger looks petty to God because God knows what's coming. 

He knows what my future holds; what is on the horizon for team Hull. 

When Symphony was a baby I remember trying to hustle and put together her lunch while she screamed in her highchair. I remember thinking to myself, "wow...this must be what God feels like when I complain and whine about my life." 

I am currently a baby crying in my highchair. Crying for a solution to my problem.

Meanwhile God; unfazed, unfrazzled, unchanged, works for my good. 

Even when it feels like He is no where even remotely close. 

Currently I am in a season of not hearing. 

A season of not hearing God. 

It is so frustrating. 

I am angry. 

I am angry that He has not shown up yet. 

Yet. 

I know He is near...but I cannot hear Him. 

So for those of you who lift up team Hull every day in prayer, I thank you. Truly, I desperately thank you. 

We still need it. 

See, to us, it still feels like just yesterday. 

To us, it does not feel like almost nine months have gone by. 

To us, your prayers are getting us through this season of not hearing. 

Thank you. 

Please know, that I still have hope. 

Right now, it's just more like angry desperate hope. 

But it is still hope. 

27

In March of 2007 my oldest brother turned 27.

In June of 2008 my oldest brother took his last breath.

In less then a week I turn 27.

I always knew this birthday would be a strange one, but I never thought turning 27 would weigh so heavy on my already weary heart.

My brother, Ryan Patrick Sweeney, has always been inspiring to me, for many reasons, but as my birthday creeps closer and closer I have reflected more and more on who my brother truly was. (more on him later, I promise.)

I am sure my brother did not realize on his birthday in 2007 that it would be his last full year to do...well...anything. And yet, he made every day count. 

My brother lived a fuller life, in and out of the hospital, then I ever have. 

You see, my brother knew something that most people never truly grasp: 

Every breath is a gift.

Every. Breath.

Every deep, shallow, heavy hearted, or joyful breath was and is so precious. 

I can not emphasize that enough.

At 21 I watched as my brother took his final earthly breath and at 26 I was unconscious as my beloved husband had to hold our premature son as he desperately tried to take a breath, but could not. 

Every breath is precious. 

Every. Breath.

To be honest, I have lived an over-all pretty selfish life. So at 27 (almost) I have decided to start making a very conscious decision to start making my breath matter. 

*insert mentos commercial here*

Pretend with me for a second that "making every day count" is not the most overused, cliche saying ever. 

The truth is only God knows when your last breath with be.

How incredible is that?

The God of the UNIVERSE knows when you will die. 

Not only does He know that, but He knows YOU. (yes, even the you that no one else sees.)

And He loves you anyways. 

So at 27 (almost), I have decided to live more like my brother. 

Live without fear and without the guarantee of tomorrow. 

I do not know where or when my last breath will be, but I do know this:

When I die I will hear the words "well done, My daughter." and I will no longer even remember the pain of this world.

I need my breath to matter. 

Really matter.

I want there to be no question as to where I am when my work here is done. 

I do not want to be the selfish fool who hears God say, "I do not know you."

So this next year I will be writing a book.

27 the book. 

I have a couple ideas of what I might write about, but truly that all could change. 

This upcoming year of being 27 looks very uncertain to me. 

I do not know what it's going to look like. I don't know where God will take me, but I do know that with God on my side...there is no time for fear. 

I have let the fear of the unknown and the fear of satan himself get in the way for far too long. 

Into lion country I go. (C.S. Lewis)

For those of you who know me pretty well and those of you from my past who think that they still know me...I can assure you that this time next year I will be a transformed woman. 

I will need prayer. My family will also need prayer. 

I am blessed, so blessed, to have such a supportive husband who will be going through this journey with me. 

The enemy is close. 

A friend once said to me, "if you've got the devil's attention, you're doing something right." 

Here's do doing something right.

I have already experienced more spiritual warfare then I am comfortable with...but God never promised a comfortable life.

At least not here. 

I am listening to "be thou my vision" on repeat as I write this. 

My past is clear, but my future is foggy. 

Thankful for a God who sees far beyond what I see. 

Please pray for clarity and strength. 

I am a quitter by nature, so please, if you see me wavering, encourage me to fight the good fight. 

I will be blogging a little during this journey. Hopefully I won't give too much away, but when God moves, it's hard not to talk about. 

To God be the glory. 

Here's to never, never, never giving up.  

27 the book will be life changing. 

Hopefully for more than just me. 

Ryan and Phoenix, thank you. I will see you both soon, but until then I'll be making my breath matter for all three of us here.